


Mistakes

by Ginipig



Series: Cullistair One-Shots [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/pseuds/Ginipig
Summary: Everyone makes mistakes. Alistair is more sensitive to his own than he usually lets on, but Cullen knows how to support him.
Relationships: Alistair/Cullen Rutherford, cullistair - Relationship
Series: Cullistair One-Shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604995
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> To my lovely and loyal subscribers: Sorry for the spam, but I'm pulling some of my longer one-shots out of a compilation fic and publishing them separately in a series. I'm hoping to be done today with that, and then on to new things! Thanks for being awesome!
> 
> \---
> 
> Earlier this week, I had an awful day at work. Well, the day wasn't so bad, but the conversation I had with my supervisor was ... unpleasant. It's never fun to be told that you need to work on things, and I tend to take all criticism to heart. (It's not that I can't take it; I take it _too much_ to heart and worry that my mistakes cause more damage than they do.)
> 
> This fic was written as a response to that. Here, Alistair is me, while Cullen is a combination of my more rational brain, my boss, and my loving and supportive husband. I've always identified with Alistair, and I think his insecurity in his own abilities is a large reason why. I've also been told I can lighten a moment with appropriate humor, which is, in my opinion, one of Alistair's most admirable traits. So when I decided I needed to write my feelings, the setup seemed obvious.

Cullen carefully approached the shadowed figure on the battlements. He’d had to ask the healer-in-charge, every member of the Inner Circle, each of his lieutenants, the Warden-Commander’s second, and several of the guards on duty to learn the man’s location, and he wasn’t about to scare him away now.

In the moonlight, Alistair looked exhausted and far older than his thirty or so years. The image was not improved by the melancholy way he stared out into the Frostbacks, too lost and forlorn to be recognizable as his usual, cheery self.

“I wondered when you’d come by,” Alistair said as he approached. Though Alistair’s voice sounded casual, Cullen knew he was anything but. “How many people did you ask before you found me?”

“Close to two dozen.”

Alistair huffed a quiet laugh, or perhaps a soft snort. “Is it bad that I’m disappointed it took you this long?” There was an acidity in his tone that Cullen rarely heard aimed at anyone other than Morrigan, much less himself.

Guilt flared in his belly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He’d been present for Alistair’s report to the advisers and had spoken briefly in private with the Inquisitor, Leliana, and Josephine before immediately searching for Alistair — first in his own loft, then in Alistair’s official rooms in Skyhold (which Alistair rarely used), before asking around. He’d wasted no time, able to tell from the way Alistair had entered the war room that this mission had affected him deeply.

But he wouldn’t react. Alistair was upset and attempting to get a rise out of him. He did that when he was hurting. In spite of his likely insistence to the contrary, Alistair was fragile when he felt guilty or weak, the scars he’d gained from the difficulties and losses in his life providing perfect fault lines along which he could shatter at the slightest misapplication of pressure. Gentleness, Cullen knew, was most important when he was like this.

So Cullen settled next to him, resting his own elbows on the parapets, not reaching out or even brushing against him, just making his presence known if Alistair wished for more.

“I spoke with the healers —”

“Yes, yes, everyone will live,” Alistair said, glaring at the starry mountain tableau. “No thanks to their commander.”

Cullen had barely inhaled to respond when Alistair cut him off again.

“I don’t want to hear it, Cullen. There was a reason I let her take the lead during the Blight, and why I refused to command the Fereldan Wardens when they started to rebuild in Amaranthine.”

After a moment’s silence, Cullen ventured, “I thought that had something to do with you ending up somewhere without any pants?”

“Don’t.” Alistair’s voice broke on the word. “Please. Just don’t.”

“You couldn’t have known —”

“But I should have!” Alistair snapped. “I should be better than this. They need me to be better than this, even if our ranks weren’t depleted. But they are, and _that_ ’s because I couldn’t stop Clarel.”

Cullen rested a hand on Alistair’s forearm — a short movement, only a few inches, but he’d realized now that part of what Alistair needed was to be grounded.

“You are not to blame for what happened to the Wardens under her watch. You fought her as best you could.”

Alistair yanked his arm away. “I saw what was happening and didn’t stop it. How is that different from what you did in Kirkwall?”

Cullen jerked backwards on a sharp inhale. That cut him deeply, and for a moment his anger flared. How dare Alistair shove that in his face? He knew, he _knew_ how much Cullen regretted that time in his life — his lack of action cost the loss of too many lives, and the guilt still ate him up inside and cursed him with nightmares.

But Alistair’s guilt was eating at him, too, and Cullen knew he was goading him once again.

“I’m sorry,” Alistair said, turning away. “That was awful. I didn’t mean —”

Cullen stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s different because you tried to stop it. You went to Hawke and her allies and you fought against the woman leading people astray, and when you won you agreed to help rebuild. I didn’t do any of those things until it was too late.”

After several seconds of silence, Cullen squeezed Alistair’s shoulder, and Alistair whirled around, his face contorted in agony. “I can’t do this, Cullen. They need someone who knows what they’re doing, and I almost got half my Wardens killed on my first mission in charge!”

He threw himself into Cullen’s open arms, burying his face in Cullen’s neck, and Cullen embraced him, rubbing up and down Alistair’s back and speaking comforting words in his ear.

“Of course you know what you’re doing,” he gently, oh, so gently chided. “You’ve been a Warden for over a decade. You were one of two Wardens to defeat the Fifth Blight. You fought against an archdemon. You have much to offer as a leader.”

“All except the ‘competent’ and ‘leader’ bits,” Alistair murmured into Cullen’s shoulder.

“Do not sell yourself short.” Cullen hugged Alistair more closely to his chest, just slightly rocking. “You rebelled against Clarel and saved the Wardens.”

“And no one followed because I’m a shitty leader with no charisma or ability to convince people!”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” Cullen made sure to inject the slightest amount of playfulness into his tone. “You are many things, but no one who has ever met you could say you lack charisma.”

Alistair didn’t argue, unable to claim the statement inaccurate (because it wasn’t) but unwilling to concede (because he was Alistair).

“You’re new at this,” Cullen whispered. “No one expects you to be perfect.”

“ _I_ do!” Alistair cried. “I have to be.”

“You do not.” Cullen traced comforting circles in Alistair’s soft, strawberry blond, _straight_ hair that he envied so much. “You can only do your best and learn from your mistakes. No one died, and the injuries will heal. They do not blame you, and you shouldn’t either.”

“But what if —”

Cullen pulled away and cradled Alistair’s face in his hands. “What-ifs are pointless. What matters is what happened and that you care enough to be better, for yourself and your Wardens. You cannot take the blame for circumstances outside your control.”

Alistair fell silent for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “It’s unfair to use my own words against me.”

Cullen smiled. Those words had helped him to see that nothing could have prepared them for Corypheus’s attack on Haven; though he still felt guilt at the immense loss of life, he’d begun to forgive himself. If he could do anything even remotely similar for Alistair, he would consider this a success.

Leaning in to rest their foreheads together, he said, “Hypocrisy is unbecoming, my dear.”

Alistair let out a quiet laugh, and Cullen’s heart soared to hear it. He placed a kiss on Alistair’s forehead, letting his lips linger until Alistair pulled away.

“They’re all going to be okay.” Alistair nodded, speaking almost to himself. Then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly before meeting Cullen’s gaze for the first time, if uncertainly, since he’d returned to Skyhold. “Do you — do you really think I can do this?”

“No.” Cullen cupped Alistair’s cheek and caressed it with his thumb. “I know you can.”

Alistair’s eyes fluttered closed. “Maybe you’re right. You are pretty smart.” Then, with a smile, he added, “I think I might keep you around.”

Cullen returned the smile. “I hope you do.”

Just as Cullen leaned in to kiss him, Alistair pulled back. “I’m sorry for what I said about —”

Cullen shook his head. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” Alistair lay a hand on Cullen’s chest, though Cullen couldn’t tell whether the intent was to push him away or to rest a hand over his heart. “It was cruel and unfair. I wanted to —”

“Get a rise out of me. Yes, I know.”

Alistair raised both eyebrows. “Then why didn’t I?”

“Because I knew you didn’t mean it, and it wouldn’t have helped either of us.”

Alistair’s unshed tears glittered in the moonlight. “You really are smart, and I’m so lucky to have you. I’m still so sorry, and I love you _so much_.”

“I love you, too.” Cullen smiled and leaned in, pressing a kiss, gentle and chaste, to Alistair’s lips. “Now, I think you should come to bed and get some rest. Everything will look better in the morning.”

Alistair allowed Cullen to wrap his arm around him, and even rested his head against Cullen’s shoulder, as Cullen guided him to their loft. “Plagiarizing me once again. Get your own lines, Rutherford.”

“Yes, sir.” Cullen looked at Alistair from the corner of his eye and smirked. “Commander.”

Alistair spent the entire walk back to the tower explaining why calling them both _Commander_ would become confusing and suggesting increasingly ridiculous alternatives. Cullen smiled the whole time.

Alistair could do this.

He’d make sure of it.


End file.
